


And the Words in Red that were Left

by Skyriazeth



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Blood, Denial, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, a lot of ford crying, and how the page came to be, dreamscape, ford crying the whole time, my muse was a monster, this is the whole fic ladies and gents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyriazeth/pseuds/Skyriazeth
Summary: Ford vents, the only way he knows how to.





	And the Words in Red that were Left

 

Stanford feels like he’s drowning when his muse, his blessed muse admits—ever so nonchalantly to doing such a heinous act. He doesn’t believe it, no, not in the slightest, yet here he is-- hands shaking as tears cascade down his face, Bill’s mocking laughter being the only thing he hears. He’s heaving his breaths now, ragged and heavy, because he can’t believe, even for a moment, that Bill had betrayed him—the notion simply sounded far too ridiculous for him. What would his muse have to gain from doing so?

“Oh, that’s easy Sixer-- Everything! For someone as smart as you, it’s a surprise that you didn’t figure that out sooner.” Bill’s shrill voice seems to echo endlessly in the mindscape, playing those words over, and over, and over again. He used to enjoy it when Bill peers into his mind, answer his questions even without actually asking, but now all he feels is the burning sting of humiliation, his innermost thoughts exposed freely to ~~a demon~~ his muse.

Ford staggers back when he feels a jabbing pain in his right eye, barely staying conscious as he does his best to reason Bill’s actions, desperately finding a way to justify him, rationalize the whole situation. But despite his efforts, he still draws the same conclusion as before: Bill has used him. Bill had played him for a fool—Ford was but a pawn in his grand scheme, taking advantage of his blind devotion to Bill. He had refused to accept it when he had first heard him say it—the words washing over him like a sudden tide, but as the manic laughter that came from Bill and the blatant evidence was shown right in front of him, the floodgates opens, and Ford feels himself suffocating from the sea of thoughts that followed. As Ford was about to give up , he sees a bright yellow light shimmering on the surface, vision clearing to reveal the vague features of Bill. Unknowingly, he finds himself opening his mouth to yell his name, to call out for him and seek his counsel, anything to end the absolute anguish that he was being submerged with.

 His muses’ name leave his mouth in a desperate cry, and it takes Ford a short while to realize that he’s awake, back to the now comforting embrace of reality. Only after several minutes of gasping did his erratic breathing calm, making him much more aware of the bitter tears mixed with his own blood running down his face. His peace didn’t seem to last long however, when Ford starts to hear whispers which made his whole body shake, the words reminding him repeatedly of the cruel reality that is BILL CIPHER HAD LIED TO HIM, USED HIM, BETRAYED HIM. Bill, someone who he had given his trust to entirely, someone who Ford had given himself _entirely_ , body and soul, was a monster. He was a monster and Ford, well, Ford was a puppet. _His_ puppet. Nothing more.

The feeling of suffocation was beginning to return, his own thoughts mingling with the haunting whispers was much too overwhelming to bear. He needs a way to vent these emotions, to truly let his anguish show without harming or destroying anything. Absentmindedly, Ford darts his eyes frantically in search of his journal, clambering off his couch and onto his desk when he spots the leather-bound book placed on it. He roughly flips open to a vacant page, hands trembling violently as he snatches his quill from the ink bottle and starts to pour his devastation on the page. Ink, as black as the void, fills the page quickly, with Ford scribbling violently across the open page, leaving scattered watching eyes in its wake. Drops of tears and blood join the worn pages while he works, making sure every single inch of it was covered in nothing but black. The young, brilliant man—the genius that ~~his muse~~ monster made him out to be, was utterly lost in nothing but despair, the clawing darkness already slowly consuming him. Why, he asks himself, his left hand clenched so tightly he thought it was starting to bleed. Why, why, why , why would Bill do this?  
  
Ford already knows the answer to this. The both of them do. He’s not fooling anyone by denying it, but _why?_ Simple, because he was a selfish monster—an entity that cared not about him, _never about him_ , but himself, and always himself. This whole time, all the flattery and compliments were only as a means to manipulate him to do what Bill wants. Ford was such a fool, an utter idiot to think that maybe, _maybe_ this could spark something between them. That their partnership could evolve into something more than just that. WRONG. WRONG, WRONG, **WRONG**! That would never happen! Even more so now—now that he knows the real truth behind all this. He tightens his grip on his free hand, tears falling more furiously than before. Blood had splattered onto the pitch black page, and Ford decides on using it to further express his agony. It was too much, far too much to hold it in, and now that the gates have opened, Ford couldn’t stop—

‘MY MUSE WAS A MONSTER’ Ford scribbles down, and as he does, he feels his right eye burn and his heart burn even more. He doesn’t want to believe it, but it's the truth. There was no escaping from the heavy reality of the situation. Yet Ford still can’t accept it, even as he writes, each letter carved in red onto the page. Because his muse, his blessed muse can’t POSSIBLY be a monster. NO. NO NO **NO NO**. His muse was a GOD. PERFECT IN EVERY WAY. He worshiped him, gave everything up for him and—

Ford is nothing without him.

And Bill, he knew that, didn’t he?

**Author's Note:**

> I really felt like writing something about that page because it's really one of my favorites from the journal!!
> 
> Thanks a lot for @Nelja for technically being my beta <3


End file.
